


A Splash of Healing

by mandysimo13



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bagginshield Summer Surprise Event, Crying, Fluff, Grief, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Learning to Swim, M/M, Non canon compliant, Thorin's POV, Tumblr Prompt, they both lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 17:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: After hearing about Prim and Drogo's death, Bilbo and Thorin take a trip to the Shire to check on Frodo. After learning Frodo's become terrified of the water, Thorin sets out to help him work through his fears.





	A Splash of Healing

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt for this piece was: "I swear, if you splash me with water one more time...!"

 

The first time Thorin had visited the Shire, he had hated it. Too much green, too many low hills, too much sky overhead. Too many wandering eyes and hurried whispers watching him as he made his way through Hobbiton. Too many twists and turns that turned you around no matter how many maps or wizards were at your disposal. Everything in abundance reminding him just how much he’d done without and, for better or worse, how far he’d come. 

 

The one exception to his dislike was the food. Hobbits, at least, knew how to entertain and fill a belly. 

 

His second trip to the Shire was much more pleasant. 

 

He was no longer a pauper king, with more soot under his fingernails than gold on his fingers. No longer did he have the deeply set bags under his eyes that carried the weight of his people. Once again, his beard grew long and he delighted in being able to run his fingers through it for the first time since Smaug almost ruined him. His frame had filled out after judicial applications of filling food by orders of his One, Bilbo. After five years of constant rebuilding efforts, Bilbo declared it was time for a break and that he longed to see his home for the midsummer festivities. Their visit was spent in happy company, even if Bilbo’s relatives were nosier than a dog on a scent. 

 

With Bilbo as his guide, Thorin hadn’t been lost once. Unless, of course, you counted the way Thorin would lose himself staring at Bilbo as firelight danced across his still bright curls as they sat in their chairs at night, sentimental as it sounded. 

 

Thorin had made himself acquainted with Bilbo’s most favorite relatives, cousins Drogo and Primula and their young son Frodo. Where most of Bilbo’s relatives were uneasy around dwarves, unaccustomed to their at-first-sight-brisk nature, Prim and Drogo engaged him in lively conversation and didn’t show a single sign of hesitance. As such, Frodo took a shine to him immediately, peeking out from behind his mum’s skirts and asking him about his swords and “if you’re really a king, where’s your crown?”, much to the embarrassed amusement of his parents. 

 

Thorin loved all of them immediately. Frodo in particular, reminding him so much of his own nephews with his mischievous grin and shining, curious eyes. 

 

After that trip they had made it a point to visit each year for midsummer. For six years, he and Bilbo enjoyed their light and witty banter, sharing the local gossip behind fans and cups of tea. Who was courting who, what pranks the tweens had pulled, what had Lobelia’s knickers in a bunch this week were all topics of conversation best discussed over a good plate of cakes on the table and Frodo bouncing on Thorin’s knee. 

 

When news of Prim and Drogo’s death reached Erebor, Thorin truly mourned for their loss. 

 

The day the news came, Bilbo had rushed to his side in council, eyes wet with distress and trembling with emotion the likes he had not seen since Thorin was laid on a cot on the battlefield. In his hand, a letter was clutched tightly.  

 

“What has happened, ghivashel,” Thorin asked, immediately on high alert.

 

Bilbo swallowed thickly, his words seemed to be stuck with the need not to fall apart in front of the council. “Th- Thorin,” he croaked. 

 

Thorin rushed to his side to collect Bilbo in his arms. He clutched him tightly and felt Bilbo shudder against him. Without turning away, he told Balin to clear the council room. When all had left, Bilbo finally let out a heartbreaking sob.

 

“Amrâlimê, you’re scaring me,” Thorin whispered into his hair. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“It’s Drogo,” Bilbo whispered, “and Prim. They’re gone.”

 

“Gone? Gone where?”

 

“They’ve died. Drowned in the river, according to Lobelia.” His sobs muffled themselves in Thorin’s tunic and Thorin couldn’t help but join him in tears. While he hadn’t known them as long or as well as Bilbo, he had been proud to call them both friends. To hear of their deaths made him ache and he clutched Bilbo tighter, lending him all the comfort and support he could muster.

 

“I’m so sorry, ghivashel. Truly.” He kissed Bilbo’s head, nuzzling down into his curls and letting his tears wet them. But then he remembered something desperately important, snapping to attention. 

 

He jerked just far enough away so as to look into Bilbo’s reddened eyes. “What of Frodo?”

 

“Oh,” Bilbo said, face crumbling. “Oh, he lives.”

 

Thorin breathed a sigh of relieve. “Thank Mahal.”

 

“Indeed, Yvanna be with him.” 

 

Thorin recollected Bilbo in his arms and stood, rocking him in silence for a moment. Then he broke it by asking, “what is to come of him, then? Without his parents, who will take care of him?”

 

“Lobelia says that he’s been collected by the Brandybucks. He’s in Brandy Hall with his cousins. They’re taking care of him, now.” 

  
Thorin hummed and nodded. “That’s good. Being with family is good.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo weakly agreed. 

 

They stood there, clutching each other tightly until the immediacy of their grief had subsided. Thorin called to Balin and told him that all further business would be put on hold for the day. Balin paid them his deepest condolences and assured him that business would be taken care of and that they were to retire for the day. 

 

After they retired to their room, Bilbo helped him trim off a large portion of his beard. He let Bilbo cry and talk of his cousins until words had run dry. They made love in the flickering light of their hearth, reaffirming life in each other and taking reassurance from their kisses and gasps of pleasure. 

 

Afterwards, in the dark before sleep, Thorin thought about Frodo’s fate. He looked down, watching Bilbo sleep in the crook of his arm, his fingers curled into Thorin’s chest, body pressed tight to his. Thorin had always had a fondness for Frodo, just as Bilbo had. He thought on what he felt like to be an orphan at his old age, how much he missed his parents and his brother even though he was over two hundred years old. He wanted to find a way to alleviate Frodo of all that pain. 

 

Which gave him an idea. 

 

“Bilbo,” he whispered. “Ghivashel, you awake?”

 

Bilbo groaned, rubbing his face into Thorin’s chest. “I am now, dratted dwarf.”

 

“I was thinking-”

 

“Highly improper at this hour-”

 

“Hush, kurdel.” He ran a soothing hand up and down Bilbo’s back. “I was thinking, what if we adopted Frodo.” 

 

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open and in a flash he was sat straight up. “Sweet Yvanna, what are you talking about?”

 

Thorin, unfazed by Bilbo’s reaction, explained himself. “I know what it’s like to be orphaned, amrâlimê.”

 

“So do I,” Bilbo insisted. “In case you’ve forgotten, my parents are gone as well.”

 

“Aye, I know. Which is why I think that we’d be able to help him.”

 

“But...that’s impossible! Where would he live?”

 

“He would live here.”

 

“Without any other hobbits? That’s insane, Thorin.” 

 

“You do it,” Thorin reasoned. 

 

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said flippantly, “I’m ‘Mad Baggins’ who runs off and marries dwarven kings and has grand adventures with wizards.  _ After _ I’ve reached my majority, mind.” Bilbo, softly emphasized, “Frodo’s only a boy. Not even a tween yet.” His eyes watered again. “Gods, he’s only twelve! I couldn’t take him away from his home after losing his parents.”

 

Thorin nodded. “He’d have you, though. His “Uncle Bilbo”. He could be happy here with you, learning languages, exploring the world. He’d be well provided for, well protected, and I’m sure he would make friends fast here.”

 

Bilbo still looked skeptical. “I don’t know Thorin. If we lived in the Shire, it would be different. I’d march into Brandy Hall, myself, and take him to Bag End without question. But this,” he sighed deeply. “This may be too big a move.”

 

“Don’t decide on anything now,” Thorin urged. “Midsummer is two months away. What if we left a little early, visited with Frodo and then decide?”

 

Bilbo nodded, weariness creeping up on him again. “I’ll write to Lobelia in the morning. To let her know that we’re coming.”

 

“Good.” He kissed Bilbo softly before settling them back into the sheets. 

 

~*~

 

One month after hearing of his cousins death, Bilbo lead the way into Hobbiton. Their small traveling party consisted of Thorin, Bilbo, Dwalin, and a few guardsmen to move them swiftly and safely through the wilds. From his own mount, Thorin reached across the space between himself and Bilbo, atop his own pony, to take his One’s hand. With a deep breath and stiff spine, Bilbo marched them into the town as calmly as you please. 

 

They were met in the market by Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins. 

 

“Look at you lot, riding those great beasts into town. Have you no regard for delicate constitutions, Bilbo Baggins,” she harped. 

 

“And a good morning to you, too, Lobelia.” Bilbo dismounted and collected his cousin into a stiff hug. “Good to see not much has changed.”

 

She hugged him in return before stepping back to regard him. “You’re weary.”

 

“We are,” Bilbo confirmed. 

 

“Well, I’m sure you remember the way to Bag End, then. I mean, after all, you did used to live there.” 

 

Lobelia began walking towards the road that led to Bag End and Bilbo followed, knowing the rest of the party would follow. “I remember the way. Has Hamfast stocked up? We sent a raven a few days ago, telling him of our progress.”

 

“I imagine he’s got things well in hand.”

 

Thorin felt antsy and out of place away from his husband’s side. So, wordlessly, he too dismounted and joined Bilbo and Lobelia in their walk. 

 

“I see you’re still with this raggamuffin,” Lobelia remarked. 

 

“I am, indeed.”

 

Lobelia looked at him, evaluating his appearance. “Your beard is shorter.”

 

Thorin stiffened. “It is, yes.”

 

“Did you finally see reason and cut it back? Looks better this way.”

 

“It’s a sign of mourning, Lobelia,” Bilbo informed her.

 

“What’s he got to mourn? It’s not like they were his cousins.”

 

Thorin bristled at Lobelia’s harsh words. He opened his mouth to speak but Bilbo beat him to it. “Cousin, if you insist on continuing to mock and intrude, you’d best be served cackling with the other hens at the Pony or the Dragon. Good day!” And with that, he took Thorin’s hand and sped up his pace towards his old home, leaving Lobelia sputtering in the dust. 

 

When they were a good distance away, Thorin brought Bilbo’s knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Ghivashel, you didn’t have to-”

 

“Oh, but I did,” Bilbo insisted. “If nothing else, it might make that relentless harpy think twice about the impact of her words.” Thorin let it go and focused on running his thumb soothingly over his One’s knuckles as they walked the rest of the way to Bag End. 

 

When they arrived, they found Hamfast working in the garden. He smiled and waved, dropping his pruners before making his way over. “Bilbo Baggins! And Thorin, as well! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

 

Bilbo smiled his first genuine smile in weeks as he hugged his friend. “It’s good to see you too, old friend. Though, I’m sorry it weren’t under better circumstances.”

 

Hamfast nodded, “true, true. It came as quite a shock to us, Prim and Drogo. I swear, the whole Shire paused when news made the rounds.”

 

Bilbo dropped his head, sorrow creeping back into his eyes. Thorin wrapped his arm around Bilbo, pulling him close. “We were deeply saddened by their passing, ourselves,” he told Hamfast. “We came to pay our respects. To see Frodo. Do you know how he fares?”

 

“Oh, sure! Here,” Hamfast said, wiping his hands on his trousers and gestured to the steps. “Why don’t we all go inside, have a nice cuppa and chat awhile?”

 

“That would be lovely,” Bilbo said gratefully. 

 

By that time, the rest of their party had joined them at the gate. Dwalin landed on the ground and began delegating duties to the hands they’d brought with them. Thorin already made arrangements for their guards to stay in Bree until they required their services for the journey home; but before then they would help unload the few possessions they had brought. 

 

Once inside, Bilbo set himself to the familiar task of making tea. Letting his One settle into his old home, Thorin was off to the room he shared with Bilbo. He closed the door behind him and let out a sigh of relief at being alone. A little over three weeks of fast paced, close quarters traveling had Thorin exhausted and chafing at the people who had traveled with them. He had grown accustomed to an excess of space and privacy and sorely missed it on the road. 

 

Spying an ewer of water and a basin set out for them, he thanked Hamfast’s foresight heartily and stripped to begin a perfunctory wash up. He was just swabbing his chest with a wet cloth when the door opened and closed behind him.

 

“I see you’ve found the water, then,” Bilbo said with amusement in his voice.

 

“The dust is intolerable.”

 

Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s bare torso. “You’ve grown soft, my dear.”

 

Thorin chuckled and turned in his arms. “Like you’re one to talk.” He wrapped his damp arms around Bilbo’s dusty traveling clothes. “You’ve always been rather soft, yourself.” He poked Bilbo’s side and counted it a win that he earned a giggle for his troubles.

 

Bilbo swatted his chest in retaliation. “Stop it! This is a serious matter, Thorin Oakenshield. And look at this,” Bilbo sighed at the sight of Thorin’s chest. “I’ve gone and gotten you all dusty again. So sloppy of me.”

 

“Rude, is the word you’re looking for,” Thorin replied. He dropped the cloth back in the basin and worked Bilbo’s buttons apart. “But I’m sure you can fix your errors in etiquette, âzyungel.” 

 

Bilbo hummed, enjoying Thorin’s hands working over him. “I’m sure I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He shrugged out of his shirt. “Here, hand me that cloth.”

 

Between kisses and charged touches, they washed and dressed in fresh clothes before meeting Hamfast back in the dining room for a quick meal. Over tea, scones, some cold cuts and fresh fruit, Hamfast told them of the happenings in Hobbiton since Prim and Drogo’s death. He told them about how Frodo had been adjusting and told them where the boy’s parents were buried. 

 

At length, Bilbo asked, “how did it happen?”

 

“They were fishing on the river. They knew the river was high and running fast with the spring rains but they thought they could handle it. They were good swimmers, experienced boaters. They should have been fine,” Hamfast said sadly. Bilbo nodded and Thorin smoothed a hand over Bilbo’s back. 

 

After that, Hamfast wrapped up his visit pretty quickly and saw himself out. Bilbo seamlessly took up the mantle of homeowner once more and set about making sure things were in order. He began preparing for their dinner and Thorin helped him, not able to bear being apart from him while he processed a new wave of grief. The rest of the evening was passed in pleasant conversation, food and drink. They retired early, eager to recover from their journey. 

 

~*~

 

The next day, Bilbo and Thorin made their way over to Brandy Hall to see Frodo. When they arrived, they were treated to the sight of a dozen young ones chasing each other in a game of tag outside the hall. The sight warmed Thorin immensely, gratified to see that even amongst the many races of Middle Earth, children were not all that different across the board. One of them noticed their approach and shouted their arrival to presumably the rest of the Shire, based purely on the level of their voice. 

 

“Oi! Everyone! It’s Cousin Bilbo!”

 

The kids flooded towards them, eager with greetings and requests for stories. “Yes, yes, I’ll tell you all stories in due time,” he assured them. “Goodness Meriadoc, you’ve grown.”

 

“Mum says so, too!”

 

“Where’s that trouble-making Peregrin? If you’re here, he’s not far off.”

 

Popping up from behind them, Peregrin announced himself. “Lookin’ for me, Bilbo?”

 

“Hello there, young cousin,” Bilbo greeted him, and the rest of the young ones by name as he slowly made his way to the door of the hall. Thorin noted, most acutely, that one name wasn’t among them. 

 

“Where’s Frodo,” Thorin asked.

 

Meriadoc frowned. “Frodo’s in his room. He won’t come out and play no more.”

 

Bilbo shared a concerned look with Thorin and took his hand. “We’ll just have to go to him, then, won’t we? Want to show us the way, Meriadoc?”

 

It didn’t take long for them to find their way in the winding halls of the great house until they came to the room given to Frodo. Meriadoc knocked gently on Frodo’s closed door. 

 

“Go away,” came a muffled voice from inside.

 

“Frodo, someone’s here to see you,” Meriadoc tried. 

 

“I don’t want to see anyone, Meri! Tell them to go away!”

 

“Not even your old uncle Bilbo,” Bilbo asked temptingly.

 

“Uncle Bilbo!” Scrabbling could be heard from inside just before the door was whipped open to reveal the short, dark haired child. He launched himself into Bilbo’s waiting arms. “I missed you!”

 

Bilbo carded his fingers through Frodo’s hair. “I missed you too, dear heart.”

 

“I hope you didn’t forget about me, nidoy,” Thorin said fondly.

 

Frodo’s head snapped up from Bilbo’s shoulder to see Thorin standing by with a smile on his face. “Uncle Thorin!” He squirmed in Bilbo’s arms until he was let go so that he could go hug his other uncle. Thorin picked him up, clutching him to his chest and swinging him so that his legs dangled like he knew the boy liked, relieved to hear Frodo giggle. 

 

“It’s good to see you, nidoy,” Thorin told him.

 

“Missed you, too,” Frodo told him. Once his feet were back on the ground, Frodo took a step back, suddenly shy. “You’re here because of mum and da, aren’t you?”

 

The adults nodded. Bilbo said, “but we’re also here for you, Frodo.” He held out his hand and said, “come on, how about a walk. Some fresh air. Then a snack, just like old times.”

 

Frodo nodded and took Bilbo’s hand. Thorin offered his as well and was pleased when Frodo took his just as easily. Once outside, they started down a rambling path that lead through a lovely patch of forest. 

 

“How are the Brandybucks treating you,” Bilbo asked. 

 

“They’re good to me. I get my own room where most have to share. So, that’s nice.”

 

“Privacy is nice,” Bilbo agreed. “Meri tells me you don’t want to play anymore.” Frodo shook his head and Bilbo asked, “why don’t you play with your cousins? They miss you, too.”

 

Frodo’s face scrunched up in guilt. “But…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

  
“You can tell us, nidayith,” Thorin assured. 

 

Frodo looked up at him, then over to Bilbo before saying, “but, if I’m happy then it’s like I’ve forgotten. Whenever Pippin tells a joke and I laugh, or have Amaranth makes a good muffin, or Meri makes me play tag or charades I smile and laugh and I forget for a minute that they’re gone. That I can’t go home to tell them the joke, or share the muffins, or tell them about the game.” His eyes began to water and he stopped walking. “How could I forget about them?!”

 

And with that, Frodo began to cry freely. 

 

Together, Bilbo and Thorin dropped to their knees to wrap Frodo in a double hug, trapping him between them. “Oh dear,” Bilbo soothed. “You could never forget them.” 

 

“How do you know? What if I forget for good?”

 

“You’ll never forget them, nidayith,” Thorin told him. “They live on in you, in your heart and in your mind.” He pulled back to see Bilbo eyeing him as he spoke. “Trust me. Your uncles know a little something about grief.” 

 

Frodo looked up at him. “Are your mum and dad gone, too?”

 

Thorin nodded. “Aye. As are Bilbo’s.” He looked to Bilbo. “Do you remember your parents, ghivashel?”

 

“Every day,” Bilbo confirmed. “Would it help if we shared some stories? About our parents, your mum and da? To show they’ll never be forgotten?”

 

Frodo brightened at that. “I get my own stories! I don’t have to share them with Meri or Pippin?”

 

Bilbo and Thorin laughed at that. “No, you don’t have to share. These are just for you,” Bilbo told him. “Tell you what, we’re not far from Bag End, how about we go there, pack a picnic and then we’ll find a spot to sit and eat lunch. Maybe you know a few stories I don’t know yet about Prim and Drogo Baggins.”

 

“Have you heard this one,” Frodo asked and then without waiting for an answer, delved into a story about the time Drogo tried to bake a tray of lemon tarts. By the time he was finished they were coming up to the gate and the adults were in stitches. In a flash, they had a nice basket packed with sun tea, sandwiches, summer fruit, and a few tea cakes for dessert. Out of well practiced habit, Bilbo lead them on a trail towards the woods where there was a small creek. Frodo paid their trail no mind, enraptured in Thorin’s story about his mother’s dumplings. 

 

“-and she never let anyone help her in the kitchen. She insisted that we would wreck them, no matter how many times she showed us how to make it.”

  
“Did she whack your knuckles with her spoon,” Frodo asked excitedly.

 

“That she did, Frodo.” He rubbed his knuckles for emphasis. “She had a mean flick of the wrist, amad, did.”

 

“Your amad and my mum would have gotten along real well,” Bilbo told him with a chuckle. “Why I remember the time…” Bilbo trailed off when he realized Frodo was no longer walking between them. He looked behind them to see Frodo staring off in the distance, terrified expression on his face. “Frodo lad, what’s the matter?”

 

Frodo raised a shaking finger to the creek in the distance. 

 

Thorin asked, “the creek?” Frodo nodded and he asked, “Frodo, are you scared of the water?”

 

“That’s what killed them,” Frodo said, voice shaky. 

 

Both Bilbo and Thorin walked back to collect the boy, talking soothingly to him. “The creek didn’t hurt them.”

 

“The water did.”

 

“The water did,” Bilbo confirmed. “But it was an accident. You can’t blame the water for being what it is.” Frodo didn’t answer so Bilbo asked, “do you want to go somewhere else?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

“Right. The meadow, I think,” Bilbo said decidedly. 

 

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. They swapped stories about their parents, laughing and eating and enjoying the late afternoon sun. Eventually, though, it was time to take Frodo back to Brandy Hall for the night. It warmed Thorin’s heart to see him run over to his cousins with a smile on his face, calling for a game of cards after dinner. The whole flock of Bagginses, Tooks, and Brandybucks waved to them in parting and Bilbo and Thorin made their way back to Bag End. 

 

Later that evening, while they readied themselves for bed Thorin decided to talk to Bilbo about Frodo’s fear of the water. 

 

“Do you think he’ll get over it,” Thorin asked.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Being afraid of the water? Do you think he’ll outgrow it?”

  
“Oh, with time I suppose he might.” Bilbo shimmied out of his trousers and reached for his nightshirt. “It’s still rather fresh, though.” He sighed, feeling guilty. “I should have anticipated it, to be quite honest. Who wouldn’t feel dodgy around the water after their parents had just drowned?” 

 

He climbed into bed and into Thorin’s waiting arms. Thorin hummed in thought. “We dwarves are taught from an early age to face our fears. To fight them, overcome them. Lest they overtake us entirely.”

 

“Yes but you lot are warriors, Thorin. Born and bred.”

 

“Not all of us, ghivashel. We all go through some form of battle training, true, but most of us take a trade other than battle. You’d do well to remember Bofur was a miner. Dori’s a healer. Mahal’s beard, Bifur’s a toymaker!”

 

“Right, okay, I see your point.” He thought silently a moment before asking, “how did they teach you to face your fears?”

 

“We were taught to face them down as if they were our enemy. Then, to conquer them like the warriors in the old poems. If a dwarrow is afraid of heights, he is told to climb to the top of the mountain and pluck a stone from the top. If a dwarrowdam is afraid of beasts, she is taught to hunt and skin a pelt for her wall. To understand your fear, is to defeat it.” He paused, then asked, “how do hobbits teach their children not to fear?”

 

Bilbo shrugged. “We tell stories. Stories that have a moral. Not much to fear here in the Shire, we’re very well protected. But most children are afraid of the dark at some point in their life. We tell the story of how from darkness sprang life. How before the world there was darkness and that it wasn’t inherently bad or good, but held promise and purpose. That, if you keep your wits about you, there’s nothing in the dark to fear.” He scoffed. “Though, I well know from experience that  _ that _ is a lie.”

 

Thorin chuckled. “On that we agree.” 

 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Thorin spoke again. “What if we taught him to swim?” Bilbo didn’t answer him immediately, so he explained further. “If we can teach him the water is nothing to fear, so long as you are careful, maybe he can overcome his fear.”

 

Bilbo remained silent for awhile longer before replying. “We can ask him. Now, to sleep with you, silly dwarf.”

 

~*~

 

The next week was spent with relatives giving their tired condolences, obligated by expectation to come a’calling. Bilbo handled it all very graciously, if not a bit grumpy in his reception. Thorin did what he could to mediate when some of his relatives overstayed their welcome or got too nosy with their questions. In between visits, they answered correspondence from Erebor and the Blue Mountains, making sure that the kingdom was still running smoothly in their absence. They visited Brandy Hall often, making nice with the Brandybucks and talking with Frodo. 

 

One night, Thorin asked Frodo if he would like to learn to swim. He nearly choked on his tea and Thorin patted him heavily on the back to clear his airway. “Mahal, nidoy. Don’t inhale your drink.”

 

“Why would I want to learn to swim?!”

 

“So that you can master your fear of the water. So that you don’t have to think twice about crossing the creek or the river. Who knows, one day you may need to.”

 

Frodo shook his head. “No...no no no no, that’s what killed mum and da!”

 

“Nidayith, listen to me.” Frodo calmed himself and looked to Thorin. “There are many things to fear in this world. You can die fighting orcs or climbing a mountain or sailing a boat, it’s true. But you can also die from climbing a tree or choking on your dinner. All fear does is paralyze you, stops you from acting smartly. I want to help you get rid yourself of your fear.”

 

“How would swimming help, though? My parents knew how to swim!” 

 

“Sometimes you can do everything right and still lose,” Thorin told him plainly. “But the more prepared you are, the less likely it is to happen.” 

 

“You know how to swim, too?”

 

“Aye. And so does your uncle Bilbo.”

 

Frodo thought about it. Thorin let him think, looking out over the gathering of family members who had assembled for dinner that evening. Finally, he asked, “you won’t let anything happen to me?”

 

“Oh, nidayith,” Thorin gasped. “Of course not. I’d never let anything hurt you.”

 

“Will uncle Bilbo be there, too?”

 

“He said he would.”

 

Frodo nodded, thinking it over again. “Okay. Teach me to swim.”

 

Thorin beamed and hugged his little nephew. “That I will, nidoy.” 

 

~*~

 

Two days later saw them on the shores of a small fishing pond. Planning to spend the whole day by the water, the trio had packed a bountiful feast full of good food and drink, towels and extra clothes, and Bilbo had brought a journal and book should he tire of watching the swimming lessons. 

 

Thorin, wanting to get a start on Frodo’s lessons right away, stripped out of his shirt and into the dark small clothes that would double as swim gear. He waded in up to his chest to test the temperature and, finding it cool but not freezing, waved Frodo inside. Frodo tiptoed up to the water’s edge, flinching slightly when his feet were kissed by the gentle ripple of Thorin’s wake. 

 

“Just one step at a time, nidoy,” Thorin encouraged.

 

“Exactly,” Bilbo piped up from where he sat on the dock, watching them. “One step at a time.” 

 

“You know, you could join us,” Thorin said with a wry smile.

 

Bilbo snorted in laughter. “And come out smelling like the ducks? No thank you, Thorin. But by all means,” he gestured to the water he was in, “don’t let me stop you.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes and encouraged Frodo further until his feet up to his ankles were submerged. “How are you feeling, nidoy?”

 

“Wet. Cool.”

 

“Very apt,” Thorin joked. “Take another step.” 

 

Frodo waded in up to his knees and stopped. “This isn’t so bad.”

 

“See? Nothing to fear. Come a little closer.” He held out his hands, beckoning him closer.

 

Frodo took a few more steps until he was up to his waist and then he began to doubt the safety of the water. “I can’t see my feet anymore. What if it falls out from under me!”

 

“I’m here, niyadith. Nothing will harm you here.”

 

“Thorin is very good at catching people. Ask him some day how he scooped me off a mountain top,” Bilbo remarked as he laid out on the dock.

 

“You scooped up uncle Bilbo?”

 

Thorin bit his lip, trying to hide his embarrassment. He hadn’t exactly scooped up Bilbo. More like he grabbed him by the collar of his coat and tossed him up like he was a toy. He accomplished the goal of saving Bilbo’s life before he plummeted to his death, so Thorin refused to apologize for his rough manhandling, thank you very much. 

 

“Never mind that, now, nidoy. Here, take my hands.” He walked closer and held them out for Frodo to take. “I’m going to take you in deeper.”

 

“Deeper?”

 

“Yes. You will float, but I won’t let go. Don’t panic, let your body move with the water. You’re safe with me, okay Frodo?”

 

Frodo nodded, eyes wide. Hand in hand, Thorin walked backward into deeper water. Not once did he let his easy, reassuring smile drop from his face, nor did he move his eyes away from Frodo’s face as he looked down into the water to try and see their feet. One step into deeper water and Frodo could no longer touch the bottom. He panicked and tried to flail but Thorin was there in a moment with an arm around his back to hold him steady.

 

“Shh, nidoy, I’ve got you. Be still.”

 

“But I can’t touch the bottom! I’m going to fall!”

 

“Do you trust me,” Thorin asked. Frodo swallowed thickly and nodded. “Then trust me. Let me guide you. Be still.”

 

Frodo clung to Thorin as he slowly stepped further back until he, too, began to float. Arms holding Frodo securely, he treaded water out until he was keeping them both afloat by the kicking of his feet. 

 

“How do you feel, nidoy?”

 

“This is odd. This feels odd. I’m floating,” Frodo said, bewildered. 

 

Thorin chuckled. “It can feel odd if you're not accustomed to it, yes. Ready to try a little yourself?” Frodo clung tighter until he soothed him. “Relax, I won’t let you go until you’re ready. Here,” he held out one hand. “Take my hand.” Frodo did so, Thorin gripping it tightly to hold Frodo up as he grasped the boy’s other hand. “Now, kick your legs.”

 

Frodo began kicking, treading water and Thorin felt a swell of pride. “Excellent, Frodo! Kick kick kick!”

 

“Well done, Frodo,” Bilbo said from his perch on the dock. Thorin looked up at him and saw his One looking back at him with incredible fondness. He took note of how Bilbo had already removed his waistcoat and undone the top lacing of his collar to let his skin breath under the sun. He swore he would never get used to how attractive his husband was, how distracting. 

 

_ Speaking of distractions _ , he thought. 

 

Refocusing on Frodo, he began the next part of his lesson. “Now, for a tricky part. I’m going to let go for a moment and I want you to wave your arms in the water like this.” He showed Frodo, one handed, the motion he was meant to repeat. “We’ll do it on three, ready?”

 

“You’ll catch me if I fall?”

 

“I’ll catch you if you fall. But don’t be afraid if you do, it’s all part of learning. I know you can do this.”

 

“Okay, uncle Thorin.”

 

“Ready? One, two, three.” On three he released his hands and Frodo’s hands slapped down to the water and they flailed a little as his head sank under the water. His head popped up and he sputtered a bit and he reached out for Thorin to hold him again and Thorin went willingly back to him. “That was a good first try.”

 

“I fell!”

 

“And I was here to catch you, right?”

 

Frodo, disgruntled, said. “I guess.” 

 

Just then, a big splash hit Thorin in the side of his head. He squawked in surprise before gathering enough wits to hear his love laughing at him. He turned a frown on Bilbo and said, “what in Mahal’s name was that for?”

 

Bilbo, in between cackles said, “I’m sorry, love. But it just seemed only fair that your hair got wet when Frodo’s got dunked in the drink. Now you match.” 

 

Thorin sniffed in annoyance and said, “if you don’t mind, I’m trying to teach here.”

 

Bilbo held up his hands in surrender. “Oh, pardon me King Under the Pond. By all means,” he gestured for them to continue. 

 

“Now, how about we swim a little closer in and you can try the movement again with your feet on the ground?”

 

“That sounds good.”

 

“Okay, here we go-aaugh!” Another splash hit the side of his face and he was then faced with the laughter of both Bilbo and Frodo. “I swear, Bilbo, if you splash me with water  _ one _ more time-”

 

“You’ll what,” Bilbo challenged, mischief gleaming in his eyes. He splashed him once more, giggling as Thorin shook his head to free his eyes of water.  

 

Catching the playful mood, Thorin grinned back wickedly. He turned his head to Frodo and said, “if you’ll excuse me a moment, swim lessons are paused for a few minutes while I teach your uncle a lesson.”

 

Frodo began to laugh as Thorin swam them back to shore. He deposited his little nephew on the ground and then made his way to the dock where Bilbo had perched himself. Now finding himself trapped at the end of the dock, he put his hands up in surrender. 

 

“Now Thorin-”

 

“Now Bilbo,” Thorin mocked. He stalked towards Bilbo as his One took steps back towards the edge of the dock.

 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Oh, just coming for a little payback, ghivashel.”

 

“Payback? What are you going to- _ Thorin! Put me down! _ ”  Bilbo struggled in Thorin’s grasp, trying to break free. “This is highly undignified!”

 

Thorin only laughed and said, “hold on tight,” before stepping off the end of the dock, plunging them into the water. They came back up together, Thorin laughing with his arms still wrapped around Bilbo’s middle. 

 

Bilbo punched him in the shoulder and crossed his arms in a mighty impression of a sulk. “What did you do that for, Thorin Oakenshield?”

 

Thorin just squeezed him tighter and kissed his surly forehead. “Evening the playing field âzyungel.”  All Bilbo had to say in response was another splash of water to the face. 

 

From there, Bilbo joined in Thorin’s lessons and by the end of the day Frodo had gained a decent grasp on swimming. By the time Thorin and Bilbo left the Shire after the midsummer festivities a month later, Frodo was swimming like a fish and his fear of the water was gone. In the end, they decided it would be best for Frodo to live in Brandy Hall; at least for a little while. While Frodo wanted to see Erebor some day he wasn’t keen on leaving his home any time soon and his uncles understood. They promised to write more, checking in on him to be sure he was keeping his nose clean and getting on well with the Brandybucks. Frodo promised he would behave, as well as could be expected, and that he would pay attention in his studies. 

 

As they left the boundaries of the Shire, Bilbo reached across the space between their ponies to grab Thorin’s hand. 

 

“Thank you for helping Frodo, love.”

 

Thorin pulled Bilbo’s hand up to brush his lips to his knuckles. “No thanks needed, ghivashel. He is family. We help each other.” 

 

Bilbo nodded, silence his only response. It wasn’t until later, when they stopped for a meal and a stretch that Bilbo’s good spirits returned. Stretched out on the ground, looking up at the sky, he said with cheek, “think we could find a river along the way? Perhaps later we can have a rematch?”

 

Thorin couldn’t help but laugh and shove Bilbo good-naturedly, falling even more in love with his One. “Don’t go go picking fights you can’t win, Master Baggins.”

 

Bilbo gasped in mock-hurt. “That sounds like a challenge, My King.”

 

Thorin resolved to find them a river as soon as possible. He was eager for a rematch. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys! I hope my fellow participants enjoyed and thanks in advance for your kudos and comments!


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